


Stronger

by peach_pdf



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Cute story, Fluff, Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, Kinda, M/M, Parties, Pining, Romance, Song fic, Underage Drinking, also my third piece ever!!!, also yeah i use present/progressive tenses, and let me know what you think, because reasons, childhood fic, coming into terms wih sexuality, coming-out, i'll link it on the 4th chapter, its called style, iwaoi - Freeform, just read it, okay, pffft, pls, sappy childhood fic what more could you ask for, this is gonna be multi-chap'd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-04-27 18:32:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5059555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peach_pdf/pseuds/peach_pdf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oikawa is eleven years old, red-faced and dry-lipped and all kinds of unsure, the first time Hajime kisses him.</p><p> </p><p>[*]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. feeling

**Author's Note:**

> this fic will be on hold and possibly discontinued/orphaned! uhh tbh i rlly don't like my old writing it was v inconsistent and all over the place, and im working very hard on that now! uh i had a really good concept and like. vibe and everything in mind but i just wasn't (still am tbh) very good at executing and delivering it, so maybe i might just rewrite this altogether when i finally feel like im able to handle that! thank u for checking this out! i love u!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa is persistent and Iwaizumi is a little dense. Just a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this started out as a super sappy headcanon and it is thrEE IN THE FUCKING MORNING but i was so thrilled by the responses on the other two haikyuu!! fics i posted and then this happened

Summer. Fourth grade. The Iwaizumi’s second house, the one with the patio that smelled like mothballs and the backyard with the koi pond and catnip growing like weed.

It’s hot outside, very, and Iwaizumi’s ankles are submerged in the clear pond water, skin red and slick with sweat. He has just finished his second fruit popsicle and was now licking the sweetness off of his fingers. “I want,” Oikawa begins, pointing to the wrapper the skittered on the grass every time the balmy air stirred. “Go get one yourself,” Iwaizumi says plainly, and he ignores Oikawa’s whines and complaints. Oikawa did this all the time, trying to see if he’d get his way. Iwaizumi never gives in, because they are already eleven and he knows Oikawa is already spoiled enough as he is.  
The scorching heat made Oikawa’s neck itch, and it finally got the better of him. He gets on his feet, albeit begrudgingly, and lets his foot slap loudly on the dusty floorboards as he made his way into the kitchen, ducking the low-hanging cobwebs he once ran headfirst into. He’ll get rid of that when he remembers to sneak a duster out of his mother’s supply closet this Thursday. She was never fond of this place, and she hated reminding Oikawa that all the dust gives him allergies.

Oikawa squints at the dark, nails scratching a red patch of skin on his arms. He’d have to wear a sweater tonight because he’d be done for if his mom finds out he still goes here sometimes.

The house had been unoccupied for two years now, and it was only barely fit for their games of soldier because on weekends they shoo away the spiders and they sweep the front steps. It’s empty and hollow the way houses are when there are no lights on and sunlight barely coughed life into it. Oikawa finds the air is chillingly still (or maybe he’s just paranoid) and he suddenly misses the sticky heat of the air in the backyard.  
He enters the kitchen cautiously because he’s sure there’s _something_ lurking in the darkness, and when he sees the bright red cooler they had dragged here earlier today he nearly squeals in panic. He doesn’t enjoy the empty feeling of isolation, so he hauls it out into the sunlit parts of the living room and sneezes twice as he does so. His hand shoots inside the cooler and swims a little in the numbing water before he takes two popsicles and strides back out into the summer heat.

“When will your mum be back?” he asks when he rejoins his friend, handing him the other popsicle. “Dunno,” Iwaizumi replies stiffly, peeling the wrapper off and tossing it into the air. His mother had left them earlier this morning, her white blouse fluttering and her braided hair hanging limp over her shoulders. She had hidden flowers in her bag when they thought they weren’t looking, and Oikawa almost asked her how she could look so old and so young at the same time. He couldn’t ask because Iwa-chan had a question of his own: “Are you visiting pops?” She nods, ruffles his hair, and they watch her go. Some years ago he didn’t know why he and his mom visited pretty green fields with rocks every year. He understood now though, the way he understood the bitter flavor in his throat when he reads the writing on a particular rock; _Haruo Iwaizumi, loving husband and father._

The baking air picks up pace and turns into a hot and heavy breeze, making their sweat dry on their skin and the wrappers flutter around. A particularly sticky one plasters itself on Oikawa’s face, and he wipes the pomelo flavored stickiness off his face with the water from the pond before exclaiming loudly, “Iwa-chan! It’s back! They brought it back!” He rolls the popsicle stick around his mouth with his tongue before saying, “Brought back what?”

“This!” Oikawa gushes, bouncing to where Iwa-chan sat and he waves the wrapper in his face. “ _The Fruit-tastic Trivia!”_ he continued, then proceeded to dictate the data to Iwaizumi.

“ _’Several studies have concluded that water exists in other planets in our Solar System. Mars is one of the more debatable of these, and if astronauts find water in any future explorations or expeditions, the discovery of extraterrestrial life might soon follow.’_ You hear that, Iwa-chan? Aliens exist!”

“If they find water on Mars,” Iwaizumi reminds him simply. “But of course they will,” says Oikawa haughtily. His eyes are alight and his voice is full, hands akimbo and drawn to his full height, extremely confident in his statement. “How are you so sure they will find water on Mars?” “They will. Trust me,” Oikawa says, waving him off. He sits next to Iwaizumi and reads the trivia off his wrapper, too. It’s about cats and how house lilies are dangerous for them, and he just throws it away because it’s not as interesting as the ones about space.

“Hey, Iwa-chan. Why is Mars red?”

“You’re the space-crazy one here, why don’t you know?”

Oikawa pouts. “My fondness for space doesn’t make me the smartest person in the world, Iwa-chan.”  
“Nothing could ever make you the smartest person in the world,” Iwaizumi replies, then adds, “Wanna play volleyball?”

He doesn’t even wait for Oikawa to answer; he’s on his feet, dusting off the soil on his trousers and barely a second has passed when a volleyball comes flying towards Oikawa’s face. “Hey!” Oikawa grunts, barely receiving it and getting it back into the air. The sun dips low into the horizon and the air has gotten cooler, their whole world tinted in blood-orange and gold and everything is lazy and quiet. The volleyball is tossed and thrown back and forth several times and suddenly the air goes dry and rain starts to pour, and they run inside, feet trudging on the mud.

They wash the dirt off their legs and Oikawa and Iwaizumi talk idly about the weather (“Hey, Iwa-chan, why is it raining in the middle of summer?” “Because its really hot and the water turns into clouds too quickly and becomes really heavy, I think.”), Math (“Were my questions too hard? I was waiting to see if you’re ears would bleed or if you’d—it is _not nice to throw rocks at people, Iwa-chan!”_ ), aliens (“What do you mean Mars is red because of Martian blood? That is just horrible of you. You don’t even know if Martian blood is _red_.” “What other color could it be? Green?” “Well, maybe.” “Green is their _skin,_ Stupidkawa.”) and girls (“You mean you won’t kiss her? Even if she likes you a lot?”)

“I don’t like her.” Iwaizumi’s reply is simple.

Its past nine and they are in Oikawa’s house for Oikawa’s time-honored Thursday night sleepover (he had made Iwa-chan sign a waiver when they were eight because he knew that was the only way he’d get Iwa-chan to participate) (he bribed him with cotton candy. Cotton candy makes Iwaizumi defenseless), and they have had dinner and changed into clean pajamas after a hot shower each.

“But what if _she_ tries to kiss you?” Oikawa continues.

He refuses to drop the topic because Iwa-chan never really answers his questions and never really talks about girls; this was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing. Iwaizumi considers the question coolly, and Oikawa is jealous of his flippant regard of the whole matter, the whole matter being _girls and kissing_ , which was a very important matter indeed.  His mom once overheard him tell Iwa-chan to “Never ask me about girls,” because “I’m so nervous about them that I will sweat my _balls_ off.” He’s never said that again because his mother looked absolutely horrified and he doesn’t want her to ever take his magazines away again because it was “A dangerous influence to your vocabulary!” Reasoning that the magazines couldn’t have possibly done that because they were about _aliens_ didn’t help either; she only said he was becoming sassy and that he was learning to talk back.

Iwaizumi unrolls a full size sleeping bag on the floor next to Oikawa’s. It’s a deep blue against Oikawa’s bright aquamarine, also full size, but his is decidedly more worn because he actually takes it to camps. Outside. Which was the point of camping that Oikawa always ignored. Oikawa’s bag has never even seen the light of day. “Why would she kiss me?” Iwaizumi asks. He flicks the lights off, and green dots sparkle overhead.

Oikawa frowns. Iwa-chan _doesn’t get it._ He doesn’t get the concept of boys liking girls and girls liking boys or kissing or having crushes. Well, _that_ explains the distinct lack of flusteredness.  
“Because she likes you,” he groaned, long and loud, voice climbing high and falling rapidly, like it was Morse Code for “Oh my God you can be so slow sometimes Iwa-chan was I not being clear enough _was it not obvious Iwa-chan”._ It might have been. Iwa-chan could’ve understood it if it was.

There’s a thoughtful silence, and Iwaizumi asks, “What is there to like about me?” in all seriousness.

“Well, you’re tall and nice and polite and you can answer questions about math and aliens. Not girls and kissing though, you suck at that category,” Oikawa replies as he tucks his long legs in his bag, bracing himself for a playful yet heavy-handed smack that doesn’t happen. He waits a little longer. Nothing.  
“Stupidkawa,” Iwaizumi says, and he slips under the covers. “I don’t even care about kissing.” he mumbles, more to himself than Oikawa.

“Why not?”

“It’s supposed to be nice and good but it’s just pretend and it can’t make you _feel_ the way grown-ups lie about feeling. No one needs kissing.” He lays back on the pillow and stares at the glow-in-the-dark-stars they had plastered on his ceiling last week. “How can you say that?” Oikawa asks, almost indignantly. Iwa-chan was such a spoilsport.  
It takes Iwaizumi a while to respond because he bit his tongue too hard when he almost said, “My mom hasn’t kissed anyone the way she kissed dad in years. She doesn’t need it.” and instead says, “Because it doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t matter.”

Oikawa snorts. “That’s silly. It does matter. You’ll see. Someone will kiss you and it will matter,” he says, and his lying on his side and sleep is welcoming him, cradling him and he’s almost completely out when he feels something scratchy on his cheek. Soft. His eyes shoot open, and he sees Iwaizumi’s face close, so very close that he can feel his breath and smell the spearmint toothpaste when Iwa-chan says, “You didn’t feel anything, and neither did I.”

Oikawa nods furiously, red cheeks hidden in the shadows. “I didn’t feel anything,” Iwaizumi repeats, and both of them were twelve and young and _horrible_ at lying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> suggestions? was it as horrible as you initially thought? questions? wild theories as to where this is going? any headcanons? should i even continue this or nah?
> 
> comment!!  
> or you could hmu @seraphim-saurus.tumblr.com/ask  
> your choice  
> thanks for checking this out and i hope you have a lovely day


	2. falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa is smitten and Iwaizumi makes him hyperaware of time passing by.  
> Iwaizumi is also confused, because, "Buttons?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i honestly cant believe i actually updated this. im not gonna lie, this chapter isn't my best im sorry i suck at this kind of thing. its also 4 am here and im tired and i'll probs rewrite this when i get home idk
> 
>  
> 
> **ATTENTION: 10-26-15 chapter was successfully edited.**

Oikawa first realizes Iwaizumi is beautiful when pollen is stuck on his spiky, dark hair, and his eyes are alight with musical laughter, ears pink and chest heaving in the pure, joyous elation of having a lei of flowers on his head. It's childish and silly, but that was how Oikawa learned, and that was how he _fell_ , and that was how he knew.

It's White Day. First year. Classroom, after their last period's dismissal, alone. Snow is drying slowly, and clouds filter and dilute the sunshine that peeks through its vapor. Spring is taking its time. It's early in the afternoon and Oikawa refuses to leave the campus without Iwaizumi, so he's leaning his back against the window, lilac curtains billowing chill air around his lithe figure. His hands are in his pockets, fingers blue without his gloves and the scarf around his neck is a little too worn and a little too thin to keep him warm. He whines at Iwa-chan for the third time ( _in twenty six minutes_ ).

Oikawa stares ( _he always does_ ) and his eyes are so inexplicably glued to Iwa-chan. Over the years, Oikawa's learned to take life's little gifts, like Iwaizumi flexing during practice, or the candid photos of his full, vibrant smile, or walking to school with him. He's not a stalker, dear Lord, no. He's something else. He couldn't quite place his finger on the word, though, but he's sure he's not that. Besides, stalker sounded far too violent for his liking. 

"You're taking too long,"

Iwaizumi looks up for a second, then his eyes fall back onto his lap. He had been leafing through Oikawa's chemistry notes ( _for twenty one minutes_ ) and he highlights, hums and scratches his head ( _second time in thirteen minutes_ ). Oikawa is bored, horribly bored and his stomach is grumbling ( _fourth time in an hour_ ). "Iwa-chan, hurry. I'm starved." he says, and Iwaizumi grunts in reply.

"Need any help?" Oikawa offers gently. There's no venom to it, no bite, no hint of malice; just a genuine offer of help, and his tongue tastes a little bitter when Iwa-chan shakes his head. "I'm good, thanks," he replies, and Oikawa smirks when his voice cracks. Iwaizumi shoots him a glare, but resumes writing almost immediately.

"Almost done," he says, copying one last line, and he huffs, stands up and nods toward the door. "Thanks," he says, and he hands Oikawa's notebook back. "Where do you wanna eat?" he asks.

Oikawa shrugs, taking the notebook. "Anywhere is fine; I just wanna finish these chocolates and--" he gestures idly to the mountain of sweets the girls had given him when he pauses, suddenly aware of how tall Iwa-chan is. He forgets sometimes. Today he had forgotten, and Iwaizumi's broad shoulders and powerful legs reminded him that he was a strong athlete at the top of his game, at the pinnacle of his youth too. His arms were built stoutly, sinew and muscle wrapped in bronze skin, and they filled his uniform sleeves to capacity, even stretched the material in places. Iwaizumi was an incredible player now, even for a first year.

The summers they had spent roasting in the sun had payed off, and now both of them were candidates for captainship, and maybe, if they proved worthy of being called that by _one of the top prefectures_ , maybe one of them could even pass as the ace. It was all friendly rivalry between them anyway. Oikawa would love to have Iwaizumi as captain, actually. His honesty and sincerity and  _love_ for volleyball had kept the team (and Oikawa himself, especially) from falling apart when they were too close to the sun and they burned their hands, or when it was too far away and they couldn't feel its warmth. Iwaizumi has kept him sane and on-the-ground and working and functioning like a half-decent human being even when he was capable of ripping hair off his own scalp. He scowls darkly to himself, because he remembers the tiny face that had nearly stripped him of his talent, and he is thankful, so thankful his hands didn’t reach his hair.

Iwaizumi would make an incredible captain and Aobajohsai itself and in its entirety deserved Iwaizumi and his goodness. Oikawa swallows a lump in his throat.

"And what?"

Oikawa is snapped from his reverie and he smiles, waves it off and says, "Let's just go to my place. It's Thursday anyway," Iwaizumi nods and pulls his bag strap over his head and Oikawa does the same. "Let's go," Oikawa says quickly, and they step outside the classroom and into a half circle of giggling girls.

"Oikawa-san, Iwaizumi-san, the volleyball team is waiting for you at the gym." They talk in unison, and they giggle even more when Oikawa smiles at them and says they'll be there shortly. Apparently Oikawa's skin and Iwaizumi's shoulders were a hit amongst the girls, and they shuffle down the hall and out of the bubbly air of high-pitched laughter. Iwaizumi winces a little, and they are already on the first step of the stairs when someone calls out to Oikawa. 

“H-Happy White Day! I made this for you," she says, cheeks tomato-red and hands shaking as she lifts them up and Oikawa plucks the string of blossoms from between her fingers, unabashedly letting his skin skim hers. The girls giggle some more, Iwaizumi's uncomfortable ear-rubbing going by unnoticed except by Oikawa. “Thanks! It’s really pretty, like you! But aren’t you guys gonna give Iwa-chan anything? I mean it’s a shame; he’s never gotten any White Day gifts before.”

The girls  _“Aww,”_ in unison like some robotic, shrill orchestra and Iwaizumi swipes at the back of Oikawa’s head. “I’ve gotten some before, Trashykawa!” and when one of the girls hand him a button, his eyebrows crease in confusion. “What’s this?”

The girl doesn’t answer, and Oikawa throws a fit; “Ne, senpai, how come he gets a  _button?_ It’s not fair!” The girls share another sugary laugh and disperse, mumbling and gossiping, and Iwaizumi stares at Oikawa like he had grown another head. It becomes tradition soon after that; the girls leave him flower crowns every first Tuesday of the month, on White Day, and before a match. They give Iwaizumi other things, too, like bandanas and buttons, and he’s already received a total of six flower crowns and nineteen boxes of chocolate. He's still confused though, so very confused, because "Why do they keep on insisting that they'll give me buttons?" and every time Oikawa only laughs. "It's a symbol of devotion, Iwa-chan."

Iwaizumi only furrows his brows, because symbolic devotion never really made him  _feel_ anything.

 

  

* * *

 

 

 

It's the Spring after their first year in Seijoh. It's chilly outside, and flowers crowns are still left on Oikawa's desk, and Iwaizumi no longer tries explaining to his mother why his button collection continued to thrive (Oikawa had properly explained the concept of button-giving by then; "When a senpai graduates, they give the second top button of their uniform to someone they like. It's because that button is the closest to their heart.") and they have grown even more.

By then, Oikawa Tooru is sixteen, and he has made a mistake. On Iwa-chan, more specifically. It didn't seem to bother him much, though, no. The one suffering the consequences was Oikawa, and his lungs are burning because he's not quite sure he remembers how breathing works, because _there are flowers in his hair._

 

Oikawa swallows hard, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. Good Lord, who knew he could be so beautiful? It wasn’t fair. Nothing was fair with Iwa-chan. All the girls would probably chase  _him_  now, sending flying kisses and leaving unsigned notes between the leaves of his Chemistry notebook. God damn it. His insides churn and twist into heavy leaden knots and his eyes were inexplicably glued to the holy being before him. Iwaizumi is tugging at the petals on his hair, rolling the fabric of his shirt between his thumbs, wriggling his toes like some school boy. It annoys him how he had this charm, this strange sudden, unwanted attractiveness. The girls would flip for him. Oikawa let out a puff of breath. He didn’t want other girls. Oikawa Tooru is sixteen, and he knows precisely  why he doesn't want other girls.

 “Why flower crowns, Oikawa?” Oikawa only laughed. “One of the girls gave it to me today, then Iwa-chan told me I looked disgusting, even though I didn’t, and then he ended up saying he’d look better in it than I did. Of course, I wouldn’t pass up the chance to see him wearing a flower crown.” His eyes falls back on his ace. “Stop looking so out of place, Iwa-chan!” he croons, and Iwaizumi stands stock still for just a moment, then his deep set eyes met his. Iwaizumi is  _laughing_.

There was something in his eyes, and now his mind's a deep, gaping hole swirling with a single, sudden, shocking realization;  _Iwaizumi was beautiful._

It’s strange and new, and he's never really thought of him this way, no. It's surprising, Oikawa muses, rolling the thought around his head. Iwa-chan had changed. Or maybe he didn't change. Maybe Oikawa was just stupid and blind, because Iwa-chan was his best friend, and he looks at Iwa-chan now, all flushed faces and awkward smiles, he sees the simplicity of it all. Iwaizumi was still Iwaizumi, because Oikawa looks at him and sees beyond the uniform and tight lips; he sees  _Iwa-chan_ , _eleven_ and _red_ and _laughing_ as the fishes nibble on their toes and sweat is lining his forehead but  _it's okay._

 “Looking good, Iwaizumi,” someone says. He smiles. For a brief moment, Oikawa suspects he was only feigning embarrassment and that he actually enjoyed the attention, but the warm blush that crawled to his ears said otherwise. It was intimidating, actually, the bashful rub of his hand at the back of his neck, the tentative smile playing on his lips. Iwaizumi was getting better at this, at smiling back at the girls that cooed hello, at returning mellow gazes and waving hands. Iwaizumi is beautiful, and it’s a threat to Oikawa in more ways than one. Oikawa Tooru is sixteen, and he laughs as he takes pictures of Iwaizumi, ones that he will hide away with the hundreds of other candids he had taken before, like the ones he took when Iwaizumi flexed during training, or wore that full, vibrant smile, or when his back was turned to him when they walked to school. He isn't a stalker; he's something else.

He's not a stalker, no, no,  _no, no._ He was much, _much_ worse.

He was in love.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> seraphim-saurus.tumblr.com
> 
> i sin there  
> also thank you for checking this out!! as always, comments and kudos are appreciated. have a good one! :")


	3. run, run, run away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's all grown up now, all clean lines and learned grace and youthful mistakes; wrong things said at the wrong time and suddenly--so _painfully_ sudden it feels like a gunshot to his knees, not fatal, just enough to make you drop-- and suddenly it just falls apart.
> 
> It is not fine.  
> Not at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaa its been ages since i last posted any work! ive been getting sick rather often and school can FUCKING SUCK MY DICK FUCK YOU SCHOOL  
> also thats an expression i dont really have a dick  
> ALSO ID APPRECIATE SOME RESPONSE PLS SCHOOL SUCKS AND THERE IS A LOT OF BULLSHIT GOING ON RIGHT NOW AT HOME PLS SAY SOMETHING IDK UGH  
> also its short im sorry i will rewrite this whole chapter when i can im sorry im only a baby i cant do this thing ok its hard

Third year. Bright, early and crisp. Gymnasium; they had just finished two sets of diving drills and three spiking practices, courtesy of Oikawa Tooru and his skilled hands and non-genius mind. Sunlight is sparkling into the open windows and really, they should practice on Sundays more often because the gym doesn't looks quite as ethereal as it does now. Oikawa wonders why. Sweat is blooming on the small of their backs and they are glistening with it, foreheads shiny and chests rising and falling in a strained rhythm, and this, _all this is addicting._ The endorphins, the rush, the exhaustion. Its amazing, and Oikawa considers the whole thing, bunching his shirt in his fist and using it to wipe at his face. His breathing is rugged and sharp, forceful inhales and exhales that seemed to have completely emptied his lungs. Its fine. He sits down on the bench, slumps and wrinkles his nose, like a child. He's fine. And the other day, Iwa-chan didn't hit him, though he very much looked like he would with his eyes shining something fierce. Him not being so, well,  _violent_ was a good thing right? Right?

 

~~Brute Iwa-chan, _brute. I miss you._~~

 

And he sits there, contemplating existence but _without_ Iwaizumi throwing fists and yelling and  _being_ _rough_ but that  _is_ Iwaizumi and life without that would suck. He sighs, long and drawn out and decides to put up with this a bit longer. Maybe he liked Iwaizumi like that, knowing he could be soft under all the harshness, could be kind beneath the edges. Maybe he was harsh because he was kind, and  _oh_ , is this really the time to be over-thinking this,  _no, NO its not you have training get off your ass--_

"Have you ever been in love before, Oikawa?"

It takes him by surprise. Well, surprise is quite an understatement. The question falls over his head with a resounding crash and the crunching of gravel. It sounds like a boom. Like a sound the world would make if it were about to end. Oikawa Tooru, somehow, had always know that the world would end. Some deep, molecular level of his existence had told him so, and maybe he was always waiting for the spectacle of watching another planet crash into this one, or have the world be engulfed in flames as repentance for mankind's sin. Either that, or _aliens_. But whatever; he knew they had it coming. The end of the world would probably a sight to behold-- beautiful, even. That didn't sound like such a bad way to go, watching all the pretty waves and power surges ebb into something dangerous and then flicker away, taking you with it.

"Iwa-chan! Makki's asking me weird stuff again!"

Hanamaki just laughs, long and loud before stopping abruptly and prodding Oikawa's thigh. "Seriously, have you, Captain?" Oikawa shifts uncomfortably on the bench, watching Mattsukawa sit next to Hanamaki on the floor. "Ooh, is Makki asking the Captain for some love advice? You tryna get a girl or something?" he cooes, and Makki laughs again, saying,"Nah, its just that he looks like he's in some god-forsaken faraway land and I think that means he's in love," Makki pauses, strains his neck and looks over to the other end of the room and calls out, "Hey, Iwaizumi-san! Have you?" Iwaizumi looks up, drops a volleyball he had been rolling between his palms and says questioningly, "Have I what?"

Oikawa repeats the question, flushed to his neck, but its fine because he's sweaty and they've been training for over an hour and that seemed like the most probable cause of the heat on his face. Its not until Iwaizumi answers the question that Tooru realizes he didn't have to be the one to repeat the question, because  _Makki_ was there and  _Mattsun was there and--_ "Me? Been in love? Why?" 

Makki and Matsun lock eyes for a moment, mischief tugging at their shit-eating grins, then they launch into that 'I wanna know what love is' song and Iwaizumi flushes, laughs a bit but waves them off anyway and mumbles something about Sunday school teaching them that God is love. Aoba Johsai, in its entirety, seems stunned into silence.

 Hanamaki's eyes bulge in his skull and he full up cackles, wipes tears from his eyes and says something about asking Iwaizumi for some of whatever crack he's been taking. "Well its true," Matsukawa says, voice still laced with amusement. "God is love, but Satan gets to do that thing you like with his tongue." There is some scattered, snide laughter, and Oikawa swallows, tries to say something, then--

 "I think Iwaizumi-san is right." Kindaichi. Ah, but of course. Oikawa tries not to sneer, and he chokes on the snarky comment he is biting back. Oikawa could be cruel sometimes, but bothering Iwaizumi about this so early in the morning wasn't worth it, and he ignores the fact that he feels more sorry for inconveniencing Iwa-chan than he would if he offended his _kouhai_. "Well," he chirps brightly. _Too brightly,_ he flinches to himself, catching sight of Iwa-chan looking at him uncomfortably. "Enough of this talk. Lets get on with some sync'ed attacks!" Hanamaki is still laughing as he stands, pulling Matsukawa up and then there is murmured agreement and the rest of them stretch and yawn.

 

They finish another hour later, and they all wash up and get dressed and Oikawa showers last and Iwaizumi waits for him, always does. He strides out of the stall with his shorts clinging on his hips and water from the shower running in small rivulets down his toned abdomen and his back. He throws Iwaizumi a lopsided, childish grin, who looks away sharply after tossing him a bottle of deodorant. Oikawa swipes it on himself and tosses it back. 

"Makki's having a party. You coming?" Oikawa looks up sharply. He's tangled in his shirt, stopped in the middle of shrugging it on and he looks awful silly like that. "Yeah," he starts, pulling the shirt down all the way. It hugged his chest nicely, and he peers at his reflection in his locker mirror. "He says his mom is out for the weekend and we get to use the pool," he adds as an afterthought. "Anyone else coming?" 

"The whole team, I think, and some girls."

"That's cool."

"Yeah."

They walk outside after that, all awkward silences and words that never quite make it out of their mouths. Oikawa kind of wants to strangle himself with his towel.

 

Its fine. He takes a deep breath.

Well, not  _really._

 

* * *

 

 "You are so funny, _Hajime."_

They have been here for an hour, music thumping across the room and Oikawa sitting in a corner looking, well,  _terrible._ He was a sulky child. 

He stares at Iwaizumi from across the room. A girl is laughing at some joke he's made, her hand flirtily ghosting on his shoulders and something awful rumbles in his chest, all the way down to his stomach. Oikawa thinks he might puke out the three bottles of beer he had forced down his throat. Beer was never his thing. Tastes too much like piss, and he could never really swallow down the froth, so it sends him hacking sometimes when it clogs up his throat. Iwaizumi is a natural though, he drinks it like its water, grimaces, just barely noticable, then he says something before drinking again. The girl, Amu-something-or-the-other, throws her head back, her wavy brown hair cascading down her back like a waterfall. 

"A muddy waterfall," Tooru thinks as he knocks back another gulp and hears her say, so  _easily and airily,_ ' _Hajime_ '. She is still laughing. Hajime was never that funny around  _him._

He leans back against the cushions of the royal blue seat. "Hajime," he whispers, barely audible against the rumbling technobeat. "Hajime." He sits there like that, testing  _Hajime_ on his tongue, for a good ten minutes, and he keeps saying it, even when a girl with pretty black hair and steely sharp eyes has drunk enough alcohol to muster up the courage to try and talk to him.

"O-Oikawa-san!" she stutters wildly, slightly slurred. He responds with a  _Hajime_ , and the girl stands and walks away.

 

Amu stops laughing,  _finally,_ and she points to the bathroom.  _Hajime_ nods, points to where Oikawa is sitting, then finally walks over to him.  "Hey," he says when Hajime sits down. "Hey yourself," comes the reply.

 

There is a silence, faltering, and then, "Hajime."

Hajime shivers, actually  _visibly shudders_ and Oikawa wonders if what he did was wrong. Oikawa isn't sure how he feels about that. He tries again, another Hajime, idle and low and quiet and slippery with something that makes Iwaizumi look like he's choking on his heart, like it had leapt up to his throat to suffocate him.

"Oikawa," he says finally, turns around to look him in the eyes and unwrap the arms that-- oh, Iwa-chan look, your waist is perfect for hugging I didn't even notice-- and he is seething now, spits Oikawa's name like it was poison in his mouth. "Stop," he hisses through his teeth, low and guttural, yet somehow loud and clear. Oikawa hears it over the music thumping wildy in the room. He can just pretend he didn't hear. He lets his hands fall back on Hajime's solid hips, humming to the techno reverberating across the packed room.

 "Mm, you smell good," he mumbles, thick and cloudy, just like the four cups of punch he had downed earlier, even after the beer. He intended to get shit-faced wasted now, with the way Hajime was acting. His nose is buried on Iwaizumi's neck, and he has scooched over so close he just had to swing a leg over Hajime's lap to straddle him, and he intends to, so he hums some more and twists his hips, trying to sit on Iwaizumi.

"Fucking stop!"

And Oikawa does stop, stunned, because one moment he was inhaling the musky scent that had so mercilessly clung to the fabric of Iwaizumi 's shirt, even after all the beer and all the vodka, but now he's on the floor, cold marble stinging his palm and Iwaizumi's voice is echoing in his head something deafening. 

A few girls had laughed. "Oikawa-san! You've had too much to drink! How ever are you getting home like that, tripping over your own feet!" Oikawa flushes, albeit thankful they didn't see the whole thing. "It's fine! Iwa-chan is driving me home!" he reassures them, but when he jerks his head around to say, "Right, Iwa-chan?" Iwa-chan isn't there; he's walking out of the room and Tooru,  _stupid-fucking-Tooru,_ follows him.

 

 

The front yard is worlds away from the party with the heavy bass and alcohol stinging his nose.

He takes a quick gasp of air when he steps outside. Its cold, and the lawn is shining silver over the greens and the browns and its kind of enchanting.

The music is loud enough to be heard even outside, all thumping bass and shrill electronics and unsteady rhythm and Tooru thinks, rather bitterly, about how it matches his pulse. He was never fond of dashboard trembling beats, so loud you feel it shaking your heart. "Hajime!" he calls out, kind of slurred, kind of hurt, and Iwaizumi whips around, eyes sharp and angry and his face is full of lines."What the heck is wrong with you?" Hajime says first, snaps. He tosses his cup on the stone steps that spiraled around the garden, pale golden liquid swishing out and splattering on the dyed grass. "'m sorry, Haji-" "Stop that!"

"'m sorry."

 

 This is the part where it all falls apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stop  
> hamm(suff)er time  
> also i celebrated my birthday on the third (im a tol fifteen year old now HA) and if youre reading the author's notes bless you for making it this far.  
> HAPPY V DAY NERDS  
>  
> 
> seraphim-saurus.tumblr.com=HAIKYUU SHIPPER TRASH ALSO DRABBLES SOMETIMES


End file.
